Culture Starved
by CacoPhoniA
Summary: Even though Zexion sometimes longs for culture, he has a little slice of it right where he sits.


A/N: I think...that I'm a one-shot person, because I have no motivation whatsoever to finish projects...well, there goes my writing career. :( Anyway, I felt like writing today, so...yea. Enjoy? Maybe? Okay... I have put my own thoughts into Zexion's mind, and other stuff that happened to pop up in Civics. (Again. Is Civics my writer's block cure? Maybe I get so bored that things just arrive there.) Well, whatever.

Enjoy!

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In a way, Zexion felt he was starving.

No, not the kind of starving you see in those commercials about starving kids in Africa, but a different type that he noticed he was suffering from quite often lately.

I guess one could call it starving for culture.

Zexion was tired of the blankness of the Castle, the dull white of it all. It was boring, and Zexion hated it. Often people thought he was boring, he knew that, but he knew deep down that it wasn't entirely true. Yes, he did read most of the day when he wasn't stuck doing missions or other random work that their idiot of a leader assigned, and he did stay in his room a lot, but he wasn't boring.

At least not to himself.

He often marveled over the places in his books, locations so beautiful or horrifying that it was awe-inspiring. Beaches with water bluer than anything he had ever seen, skies that bore colors in the middle of the night, that seemed to sing...

Or battlegrounds spattered in blood and mud, trenches filled with the dying bodies of soldiers, the moment a gun had been fired caught on a photograph, stark yellow-white against grey.

Zexion knew that places like that were filled with pain, but really, anywhere would be better than the place he resided now. He now knew why before he had believed the "no hearts" nonsense that Xemnas had chanted to the members of a daily basis. It was easy to feel devoid of a heart in a place where everything lacked emotion too. He often looked back on his memories of when he was a "Somebody", and remembered pink and yellow flowers in the spring, arranged in patterns in a town square. Colors and different types of people all around him. No uniforms, no heartless. Just mere humans walking around in a naive bliss.

And he missed it, but in a way he couldn't really comprehend.

The people in this Castle weren't really that bad; they had their own original personalities that added a little life to the place. Axel, with his fiery disposition, Marluxia with his...flowers...

But, however, the one that seemed to be the most diverse was Demyx.

His eyes reminded Zexion of the tropical waters in Kalokairi, and he swore he could stare into them all day. (He didn't, because he still had a sense of propriety, even if it was fading with each deathly boring day.) Demyx could make music so beautiful that it was almost divine; because even in Zexion's "Somebody" days, he never heard something so pleasant course in the air, pulsing into his very veins. Demyx laughed more than anyone else that he knew, and that made him different too. His laugh was music too.

Zexion knew that his thoughts on Demyx were irrational, overall, because he sounded like a school girl with a crush, but he couldn't really help it.

The dirty-blonde man was just so interesting.

He knew Demyx was drawn to him too, even if Zexion didn't have the faintest idea of why. Demyx would often waltz into his room, sitar in hand, to show Zexion his newest song he had composed, and every single time Zexion could never find fault with any of them; they were all amazing.

Demyx would sit close to Zexion while he played, eyes downcast on his sitar, legs just barely touching his counterpart's stretched-out ones beside him. After he would finish playing, he would look at Zexion, grin, and say the same thing:

"Was it good?"

Zexion would sigh, brushing his bangs from his eyes, not really knowing why he did so. Maybe it was so Demyx could see the truth in both of his eyes. Or not. He didn't know.

"You know what I think."

Demyx would blush and grin even wider, staring at Zexion until the bluenette felt his face heat up. Demyx would then sit back, watching Zexion read for the remainder of the afternoon. Sometimes he would grab one of Zexion's hands, turning them over and over in Demyx's gloved hand, studying it.

And Zexion let him, sometimes returning the small squeezes he got from Demyx's larger hands. Then they would look up at the same time, eyes locking for the briefest of seconds, then resuming their activity.

Except Demyx would have the biggest, sweetest smile on his face.

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Zexion felt, in a way, that when he was with Demyx, maybe he was experiencing a taste of culture.

Because Demyx was all of it.

Music,

Art,

Diversity,

Intellect,

(If you called it that)

And everything that Zexion wished for, when he couldn't reach it at the moment he wanted it.

Maybe, he often mused, Demyx was the epitome of culture.

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A/N: Wow...that was random...for once I'm actually happy with the way this turned out.

FLAMERS BACK OFF!

- - Yuki 


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